“Tragique!” whispered D’Adda, as he came back from the same journey and sat beside me. “Zis ees zee focal point--most eentense, most sublime. Perhaps here Port Art will be taken--and by surprise. I know zee historee. I study Plevna, Sevastopol, Metz, Gibraltar, Vicksburg, Ladysmith. Always by surprise. Zee physical is but zee one aspect of zee situation. Zere are zee three aspect--zee physical, zee mental and zee moral. Zee moral aspect will be--what you call it? zee final decidence. When what you call zee psychologique mo-ment come--in zee wind, zee rain, zee storm, zee quick rush--zen zee high spirit go low--phwaat! like zat--zen Port Art fall. By a surprise. One sergeant he take Dalny, one private soldier he will take Port Art.” We loiter along the parallel on our way back. The ripsaw strikes a knot above our heads and we shy to windward. D’Adda reminds me that once when Skoboleff, greatest of all Russian soldiers, thus ducked in giving way to a purely physical reflex action, he immediately leaped to the parapet, and walked along in full view of the enemy, until two members of his staff dragged him down as he sputtered out his disgust with himself. We stop, winded. Again the ripsaw. Again the shrink. Then, content with what breath we have, fearful we may have no more, we hurry on, our knees sprung, our heads drawn in, like turtles slinking through the mud. We have no troops to encourage, no reputations to sustain. We are not Skoboleffs. Chapter Nine A BATTLE IN A STORM Ho-o-zan (the Phœnix Mountain), Manchuria, August 28th:--Ninety-six hours of almost incessant fighting--from sun to moon, from moon to searchlight and from searchlight to dawn--is more than human endurance, backed though it be by Japanese pluck, can stand, and there was nothing to do last night but rest. Only an occasional sentry pop or the roll off to the right of a wheezy cannon whose shot traveled on wheels in need of grease, told us that the sublime panorama of mountains and valleys lying before us hid a hundred thousand armed and warring men. Until last night the weather has been all sun and moonlight, with dawns and sunsets tinted persimmon russet, and the valleys bright twenty hours out of the twenty-four; fighting conditions ideal for the defense, whose searchlights and star bombs made the other four hours bright and left surprise as difficult as to a poker student playing with his back to a mirror. But mirror or no mirror the Japanese attacked. Night was day to them and daytime hell, as they hurled themselves against that iron chain of forts, only to break as the waves of the sea climb up to shatter upon the rocks. The rocks disintegrate. Yes. Yet hard on the waves--and slow.